Funding the Fight
by NogadamoBhitia
Summary: Why don't see Sam and Dean hustle pool anymore? Why they haven't been arrested for credit card theft in a while? How can they afford gas for the Impala when it costs a small fortune to fill up a Honda Civic? Did they get a pot of gold from that leprechaun? Here's why they can afford to keep us all safe from the things that go bump in the night.


"Jody, I need your help."

 _"_ _How many times have I heard those words?"_ Sheriff Mills, sighed to herself. "Maddy, how can I help you?"

"For starters, can you come to lunch today? I know we do lunch on Wednesdays, but I really need to talk to you."

"You have no idea how nice that sounds. Today's paperwork day and I could use a break. How about noon? I've got a couple things I need to do here, then I can head out."

"Terrific. See you then, and thanks. Hope your things aren't a pain."

" _You have no idea,"_ the Sherif thought to herself, looking down at the papers in her hand. " _I spent an hour taking this crazy report from Marcy Ward. Bobby Singer breaking into her house last night to attack a young lady. Then grinding her up in a wood chipper. The lady Marcy saw hovering in a corner of her bedroom ceiling. Who had long sharp fangs. What do I do with this?"_

Things have been quiet around him since that FBI guy made her drive him out to the salvage yard. Until now, that is. She smirked to herself when she remembered his reaction to Bobby's exploding septic tank. " _That jerk put me on the FBI's radar. Those guys can sure carry grudges."_ Looking back to the report, she sighed, dropped it into the "Bobby Singer" folder in her bottom desk drawer and moved on to the next thing in her inbox.

" _Is it that time again already? No one wants to deal with these,"_ she thought as she thumbed through the pile of Notice of Intent to Evict for Non-Payment of Property Tax papers. She'd have to assign deputies to deliver them, and there seemed to be more notices than usual. " _And they say the economy is recovering!"_

Just before she grabbed the next folder in her inbox, her phone rang.

"Bobby Singer. To what do I owe this pleasure."

"You want me to meet you where? Why should I?"

"Yes, it would be better than having you come to the office. Are you sober?"

"OK, OK! I'll be there, but it better be important." The Sheriff sighed again as she hung up the phone, put down the papers and grabbed her car keys.

As she left Bobby Singer standing on the bridge after refusing his request to extradite Rufus Turner, the Sherif shook her head. _"Why on earth would he think I'd get someone out of jail for him? He must be crazy. Of course he's crazy. At least crazy stuff always happens around him."_ Putting him out of her mind, she started thinking about lunch with her friend.

Jody loved Maddy. The two women first met when the sheriff responded to a police call and found Maddy had shot her neighbor before he could eat his wife. Maddy fought the zombies at the jail with other townsfolk, keeping everyone focused after Sam and Jody went to rescue Bobby Singer. They'd been friends ever since.

They had a standing luncheon date for Wednesdays, and always met at Maddy's house because she was borderline agoraphobic. She was also a wonderful cook and never served ridiculous food, only good solid yummy sandwiches and casseroles. Jody never left hungry.

They were nursing their desert when Maddy brought up the reason she'd moved their lunch date. . "Jody, we never talk about money, but that's my problem. Now before you offer to help me out, just listen. I don't need money. Just the opposite. I have too much money. You know I like playing the stock market, and I keep winning. I've tried to get rid of some of it locally, but I need to give away more. I want to give people a helping hand, not a crutch. You know what's going on in town–who needs help right now?"

As Jody listened to her friend she realized it must have been Maddy who sent the Marstens airplane tickets so they could go to the Mayo Clinic with their son, and arranged the prepaid hotel room and the car service they used while they were there. Nancy Marsten didn't tell anyone but Jody that they couldn't afford to go, and Jody had only told Maddy.

Jody thought about other things she'd told Maddy over the last few months. Now she knew who funded the Cortez's kid's scholarship to MIT and sent the certified check for her department's new radio system. Now Maddy was asking for more ideas and the only thing she could come up with right now was a new back-up generator for the local hospital. She heard them talking about it at the last city council meeting.

Once they figured out the best way to get the hospital the money without knowing the source (money order or cashier's check), Jody promised to think about the problem. And she did.

The Sheriff thought about it all the way back to her office, where the morning's paperwork was still waiting for her. She really hated Tuesdays.

She leaned back in her chair, propping her feet on the open bottom drawer of her desk and relaxed. " _Maybe we should change our lunch dates to Tuesday,"_ she pondered. " _It would sure make the day brighter. Then again, as good as I feel now I might never get through the inbox if we did."_ Looking at the pile waiting for her, she thought she might not get through it today.

A deputy came in with more paper, and a new cup of coffee. "There's more tax delinquencies in here, so I thought you could use this," he said. "We all hate them and I figured you probably did too." Jody smiled her thanks at him, and sat up straight, forcing herself to work.

She had just finished signing the first set of requisitions when the phone rang. "Sheriff, it's that FBI man again. Should I just take a message?" "No, I'd better talk to him. Thanks though."

Putting on her best hick sheriff voice, "This is Sheriff Mills, how can I help you?" She listened for a long time. "You know how slow it is out here in the sticks, so bear with me while I make sure I understand what you're telling me. You said Rufus Turner, alias Luther Vandross, the man you and I were chasing at Bobby Singer's here in my town, was arrested robbing a museum in Andover, Massachusetts. And it wasn't the FBI who collared him, but the local police."

"Well that's good to know and I certainly appreciate you calling to keep me in the loop so I don't waste any more time looking for him now that he's safely in custody. I'm sure your superiors will be as glad to know about this as I was.. You have a nice day, and if there's anything the Sioux Falls PD can do for you in the future, you be sure and call us." She hung up and muttered "I bet his mother barks."

Shaking her head in disgust she noticed the Bobby Singer folder in her bottom drawer and remembered their conversation that morning. " _Damn it, I will try and extradite that guy, just to get even with that jerk."_ After ordering a deputy to find the phone number of the Andover police, she dug out the necessary forms and started the paperwork. " _Judge Murphy owes me a favor and he hates the feds, so maybe this won't be too hard."_

An hour later the extradition process was well underway. She could trust Deputy Marion to carry it through. His wife had been trying to eat him when Sam Winchester stopped her. " _Wonder how much we really owe Bobby and his friends?"_

She once again turned to her inbox, going through it, making piles in order of importance. " _There really are a lot of tax delinquency notices. Everyone loathes delivering them and I can't blame them. There's nothing fun about telling people they might lose their homes if the taxes aren't paid."_ She thumbed through them, trying to decide how to divide the hated work. Suddenly one name stood out and she stopped, staring at the form in shock. She had an idea, a pretty good one, she decided, and grabbed her calculator. When she finished adding up the total unpaid taxes, she picked up her phone and made a call.

A week later Rufus Turner-Luther Vandross, or whatever alias he was booked under, showed up in her jail. An hour after she delivered him to Bobby Singer, she notified all the appropriate people of his escape, enduring the countless barbs about hick town sheriffs. The worst was that FBI guy, who she hoped would die in an apoplectic fit. _"I hope whatever Singer needed him for was important,"_ she thought as she sipped her coffee. _"_

A few days after Turner's escape, she pulled into Bobby Singer's yard. He'd heard the car and came out, cautious as always. After glaring at her for a long time, he finally he said, "Thank you. I know that was a big deal and I owe you one." "You're welcome," she said. "It was worth it when that FBI guy called, madder than hell because I grabbed Turner before he could. It'll teach him to be faster on the paperwork. The Andover cops were nice enough to call me when they stolen ring showed up in the mail. They dropped the charges. I'm guessing you don't know anything about that, do you?"

When there was no response, she continued, "Well, that's not why I'm here. You and I need to talk."

Walking with him through the aisles of wrecked cars, she told him the real reason for the visit. "You haven't paid your property taxes for three years." When he started to talk, she held up her hand to silence him. "They're paid now. You won't have to think about them again for another ten years or so. Someone had too much money and paid a few overdue bills. For you and some other folks in town. Makes the county happy and makes a big dent in our workload. None of my deputies want to work unpaid tax cases." Giving him a hard look, she continued, "I don't want to hear a peep out of you unless it's another thank you."

Bobby glared at her, trying to decide what to do. This really was a big burden lifted from his shoulders, but he was never one to take gifts without knowing all the consequences. Too many people he valued had made too many bad deals, and he said so in clear, plain words. Jody listened, and understood his reluctance didn't only come from pride, but caution and even a little fright. " _Why does everything with Bobby have to be so damn complicated?"_ she asked herself.

"OK, I'll bring the donor over to meet you. If you don't trust her after that, you can just let your property revert to the city or come up with the tax money some other way." She stomped off, shaking her head. _"Try and do something nice… Shouldn't have said anything. We didn't tell anyone else, just let the ones who noticed find out when they called the county tax collector's office. He was probably one who'd never notice. Maddy isn't going to like this."_

It took a week to convince Maddy to talk to Singer and a few more days before she could free up enough time to take her out to Bobby's. Fortunately it was a Saturday. Even though a sheriff was never off duty, she'd only be interrupted if there was an emergency or a really big crime. Maddy had heard lots of stories about Bobby during her weekly lunches with Jody, so she knew she was meeting another eccentric. That's probably why she reluctantly agreed to go. Since she'd been one of the folks defending the jail during the revenant attack, she knew there were things that went bump in the night. Jody hoped that would make dealing with Bobby easier.

Pulling into the salvage yard Jody spotted the black Impala. " _Oh, great, the Winchesters are here,:_ she thought. _"Wonder if there's a new warrant out on them,"_ and made a mental note to check when she got back to the office. All three men came out to greet them, having heard her car drive in. As always, Sam dwarfed the other two. For some reason Dean was smiling, not his usual law enforcement face. " _Huh! Maybe I'm not just a cop to him anymore."_

The meeting went better than Jody had expected. She was a bit surprised by the hospitality, in fact. Bobby had obviously told Sam and Dean about the taxes so there was no awkwardness in the conversation. The men had coffee brewed and, Jody couldn't believe it, a cake and a plate of cookies ready (" _store bought, of course, but it was the thought that counts_ ", she thought to herself. _"Wonder what that thought is?"_ ) They watched Maddy carefully as she stepped into and out of the devil's trap in front of the door, drank the coffee made with holy water and used a silver fork to eat her cake.

Evidently the men decided she was really human after all, though they didn't let their guard down much. The women successfully convinced Bobby he wasn't special–Maddy had paid the unpaid property taxes for every delinquent property owner in Sioux Falls, and planned to do it every year in the future if she could. She really wanted to get rid of her cash anonymously.

Furthermore, it became clear she wanted to get rid of more. Dean snorted at that. "Well, Bobby needs more bookcases so there'll be an empty chair around here. Sammy here needs a new computer and my Baby's tires are bald. Me, I could use a beer," and he got up to get a bottle from the fridge. "Anyone else want one?"

"Dean!" Sam shouted irritably. Always the pragmatic one, he looked at Maddy while considering the idea he just had. "This is serious. I think we should listen."

Bobby looked at him, seeing Sam's mind was working on something. "Dean, get in here."

Sam's eyes returned from whatever distant point he'd focused on. "If you don't mind my asking, ma'am, how much money are you talking about every month?"

As the large number he heard sank in, the men just stared at each other. Finally Sam said, "Maybe we should help solve her problem. It's getting harder and harder to get credit cards and someday some cop is going to catch us using one. Maybe one who's trigger happy. Hustling pool takes time, not to mention the bar fights. We get hurt enough as it is. If Jody is thinking about what I think she is, we should think about it."

Dean, leaning against the door frame, looked at his brother like he'd gone crazy "What! We don't know anything about her? Where'd she get it? Maybe she made a deal?"

Maddy looked at him confused. "Uh, I make deals every time I buy and trade stocks. Is that what you mean?"

Sam sighed. "No. He means did you go out in the middle of a crossroads, bury a box of stuff, summon a demon and make a deal with it, trading your soul for something you want."

Now Maddy was really confused. "Why would I do that? I'm good at what I do. I always have been. Some people are good at knitting, I'm good at picking stocks, have been since I was a little girl. I bought my first stock with money my uncle gave me for my 10th birthday. I'm not good at spending. I hate shopping so the cash builds up.

"Do you know what happens when you have money, and people find out about it," she went on bitterly. They treat you different. You're no longer a regular person. When I get too much money in an investment account the brokers start fawning over me, sending me stuff all the time, inviting me to presentations, offering me investment opportunities, driving me nuts. So I take some money out and open an account somewhere else, where no one knows me and they leave me alone. At least for a while.

"I've got accounts in seven cities now, trying to keep each one small enough I don't get noticed. Soon I'm going to need an eighth. It's a real pain. I just want to buy and sell, do what I'm good at and enjoy doing, and be left alone to do it. That's all I want. Paying all those back taxes helped, but it's not enough and only happens once a year."

"Why don't you just give it to charity?" Bobby asked.

"I've tried that. Send a check to one and your mailbox and phone is bombarded with requests for more. If the donation's big enough, they call inviting you to galas and fundraisers. I don't like talking to people I don't know. I don't like fancy parties or getting dressed up. I like to be left alone, not bothered. I like my life the way it is. I like to use my money to help people who need it, if I can without them knowing I'm doing it. Like paying these taxes. Jody can make sure no one knows who did it, her officers don't have to do something they hate to do, people don't lose their homes and the city gets its money. Everyone wins and no one bothers me. That's how I want to solve my problem."

She stopped and took a breath. "Mr. Singer, you seem to have what could be a good business but it's obvious you don't really run a salvage yard. Maybe you did once, but it looks like you don't anymore and haven't for a long time. You're not an illiterate moron, not with all the books lying around. You're in good shape so you're not lazy. You must be spending your time and energy on something. I don't know what it is, but Jody seems to think you're important. She probably thought I could help you, or she wouldn't have brought me here. Jody is a good friend of mine, so I agreed to come.

"But it's not going well and I think I'm done here." She stood up. "Thank you for the coffee and cake and you're welcome on the taxes." She swooped up her dishes and took them out to the kitchen, obviously ready to leave.

Dean moved aside to let her pass, then followed her. As she put her cup in the sink, he leaned against the counter. "Please don't go yet. At least not until Sammy tells us his idea. We just aren't used to people helping us. The ones that do find their lives changed and are usually unhappy about it. We're in a weird business that makes us suspicious of everyone, and we just want to be able to do what we need to do without other people getting in the way or getting hurt."

Maddy looked at him and saw he was serious. She figured this didn't happen too often. Then she noticed Sam towering in the doorway. His pleading expression was more than she could take. Sighing, she agreed to hear him out and went back to the table.

By the time the women left three hours later, they'd enjoyed great chili, several beers and good company. Maddy had agreed to put a fixed amount of money into a bank account every month. The three men would each have a debit card they could use to pull funds out of it whenever they wanted. They all exchanged phone numbers and promised to leave each other alone. Maddy still didn't know what the three men did, but she understood it was important, helped a lot of people and wasn't much fun.

Three days later Jody delivered debit cards to the men, along with gift cards for the Apple Store, a library supply company and a tire place. She also sent a case of the right brands of beer and whiskey. "No wonder she makes a killing on the stock market," was Bobby's only comment.


End file.
